


Entr'acte

by Kyne_7



Category: Code Vein (Video Game)
Genre: Action & Romance, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Minor Violence, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23404324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyne_7/pseuds/Kyne_7
Summary: A series of vignettes featuring Yakumo's ever-evolving feelings for the Queenslayer.Set during the game, rated for language and sexual themes/content.
Relationships: Oliver Collins/Protagonist, Protagonist/Yakumo Shinonome
Comments: 12
Kudos: 80





	1. Intermezzo

**Author's Note:**

> Slight AU/my headcanon where Oliver was actually important to the protagonist prior to the start of the game, because I love Oliver Collins and they did him dirty.

_intermezzo_ ~noun~

a movement coming between the major sections of an extended musical work (such as an opera), a brief interlude or diversion

* * *

It means something, he knows it does, that she calls herself Collins. He asks Louis about it once; he’d heard Jack mention her real name, the name she’d had before she was Queenslayer, but he’d be damned if he asked _Jack_ anything. Louis knows the significance, he can tell from the way the other man pulls his lip between his teeth.

“Sybil will tell you if she wants to,” Louis says, moving his crimson eyes back to his book. “It’s not my place, Yakumo.”

But that answer infuriates him, puts him on pins and needles. She’s been Sybil Collins ever since he’s known her, only she isn’t _Collins_ and she’s never been _Collins—_ did she remember something about her past? Did she have someone? A lover? Why does he care?

Yakumo sighs, trying to expel his restless energy, and leans back on the couch. From this location he can see out into the base, at Murasame making repairs and Davis near the training equipment and Sybil…

Sybil is at the bar, throwing back crystal glasses of brandy. She found it on her last solo mission out—most of her missions are solo these days. He tries to go with her, or tries to convince her to take Louis or even Mia, but she just says she needs the time alone. It’s agony waiting for her to come back, wondering if she’s okay, if this time she wasn’t quick enough and she’s regenerating all alone out there. He had a nightmare once about her turning to ash, by herself, cold on the Ridge of Frozen Souls or rotting away underneath the ruined city—

Yakumo throws an arm over the back of the couch, a desperate attempt to look casual, and sweeps his eyes over the rest of the base. It’s only a few seconds before he’s watching her again, the way her short hair brushes the tops of her shoulders when she tips her head to swallow the liquor, the way her other hand is playing with her necklace—a green gem on the end of a thin black cord. Her nails are blunt, torn. She’s been chewing them again.

“Let up, will you?” Coco mutters, sidling up to the arm of the couch. “She’s liable to get a hole in her side from the way you’re staring.”

“I’m not staring.” As if to emphasize his point, he spreads his legs out and feigns disinterest.

“Your poker face sucks, Yakumo.” Coco rolls her eyes.

“I’m just worried about her.” Yakumo shifts in his seat. “She hasn’t been the same lately.”

To that, Coco says nothing. Yakumo glances over to where Io sleeps. Usually, Io is good at calming the other woman, but lately Sybil even seems to ignore her.

Sybil stands up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She grabs her blood veil from off the weapons wall, attaching the silver pieces to her shoulders across her back. Her blood veil suits her, a delicate powder blue color so different from the dirt and blood he stares at every day. She’s incredibly light on her feet, dancing around their enemies; the fabric of her blood veil wraps around her like ribbons when she fights, graceful and deadly and—

“Going somewhere?” Louis’s voice cuts through the quiet, shaking Yakumo from his thoughts.

Sybil stops, her hand reaching for her assassin’s sickle. “Out.”

“The city? The cathedral?”

She shrugs, careful not to meet his eye. She’s never lied to Louis. “Wherever.”

Louis puts his book down. “Alone?”

“Just a few hours.”

Yakumo rotates his shoulder, rolls his neck. “I could stretch my legs.”

Sybil stiffens, and Yakumo pretends not to notice even as his chest tightens. “That’s not necessary, Yakumo, it’s been ages since you relaxed.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Thought maybe we could have a picnic.” He winks, clearly kidding, and is relieved when she softens a bit.

“I...Alright,” she relents, and he could almost sag in relief. “Ready to go now or need a minute?”

“Ready as ever.” He grins widely, hoping to garner one in return, and is rewarded with the smallest curve of her peachy lips. “Lead the way, Syb.”

* * *

She’s a marvel when she fights. The Lost can’t even touch her. She somersaults around them, ripping her sickle up their spines before they can land a single blow. He charges in first, draws the attention of the hoards, so she doesn’t have to deal with too many on her own. She has a habit of trying to take too much on at once, carry too much on her shoulders because she doesn’t want to burden anyone else. He admires that about her, but sometimes in his effort to relieve her burden he gets a little overzealous.

This is one of those times, when he has drawn about six of them away from her, and an armored Lost catches him across the chest with its sword. He retaliates quickly, destroying it; through the swirl of ash, he sees Sybil running for him across the rubble of the old city.

“Stupid,” she chastises him. “You always push yourself too hard, Yakumo.”

He catches her hand as she presses it to his chest, trying to stem the flow of blood with a ripped scrap of cloth. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Her face colors, but she still looks pissed. “I wish you’d be more careful.”

“Don’t you worry about me, Syb.” He squeezes her hand and then lets go, lets her fret over him as much as she likes. He doesn’t mind it, not really. “You can rely on me.”

She presses harder to his wound and he hisses through his teeth. “I know I can,” she whispers. When she’s through and the bleeding has stemmed, her fingers find her pendant. “There’s a mistle around the corner. We can rest there.”

They’re hunting for blood beads—he is sure she had a different reason for wanting to go out at first, but with him accompanying her it's turned into a supply run for the base. She leads him to the mistle, clearing out any nearby Lost, and when the coast is clear he removes his mask and breathes the purified air. He plops down next to the mistle, stretching his legs out in front of him. Already his wound is starting to heal, sped up by the mistle’s presence. He’ll never get used to the feeling of his skin stitching itself together, like ants on his flesh. Sybil looks satisfied at his healing; she sits near him, her knees pulled to her chest. She’s clutching the pendant again.

“What’s the story with that?” he asks, pointing. “Is it from before you were a revenant?”

She freezes, and he realizes he’s hit a sore point. “No,” she says finally. “I don’t have anything from before I was a revenant.”

“Is it…” It’s just a question, he reasons, but it sticks in his throat. They’ve shared so much, suffered so much together. She knows about Emily, about Mido, about all his friends. Yet somehow, venturing further now feels more treacherous. More...intimate. _Just ask, you big oaf._ “Is it anything to do with why you called yourself Collins when you met us?”

She holds the pendant tight, her knuckles white; she’s trembling just slightly. He’s only seen her like this once before, when Louis first introduced her to him. He’d brought back these two girls, one in torn white clothes and one covered in blood; the one in white had slept for ages but the other, she’d sat down on the couch and just stared into a candle’s flame for hours, quietly shaking. He hates that memory of her. “Did Louis ever tell you how he found me and Io?”

Yakumo sits up, leaning forward toward her. “Nah, he likes to leave that kind of stuff up to you.”

Sybil chuckles slightly. “Of course he does. When he found me and Io, we’d been captured by a group of revenants who were enslaving other revenants and forcing them to hunt for blood beads. I had just awoken. It took my body so long to come back from…” 

She trails off, but he knows what she’s referencing. Jack is their ally now, and he’s proven himself—hell, Syb even forgave him—but it still makes Yakumo’s blood boil when he thinks about how Jack killed her without a second thought. Even just the slightest possibility of frenzy and Jack had destroyed her, without waiting, without giving her the chance to overcome it. How could he have fought alongside her, been her partner for so long, and just...He clenches his fists but fights to keep his face neutral.

“Anyway,” she says quietly, “coming back from something like that…it takes a toll.”

“Your memories, you mean.” Yakumo nods. “Every time we die, we risk losing a little piece. For you to come back, after something that major…”

“I shouldn’t have been able to come back. It was the Queen’s blood, the Queen’s taint. I lost everything when I came back.” She has a faraway look in her eyes. He wonders, not for the first time, how old she was when she turned. He’d be surprised if she is older than twenty-five, her soft features and plump cheeks a hint toward something younger. “I was lying in this pit with the other enslaved revenants, didn’t know what was going on. Had never even heard of blood beads. I wouldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, except…” Sybil sighs and smiles softly. “His name was Oliver. Oliver Collins. He introduced himself and I remembered my name, just like that. Like it was easy. Like we’d always been a pair. Oliver and Sybil. He said he’d lost pieces of himself too, that the important things would come back. And the way he looked at me, like he was grasping for something but couldn’t quite reach it—”

She stops, her breathing heavy and labored like she’s run a marathon.

He doesn’t want to pry, to push her, but she’s struggling to get through the details of the story and he wants to reassure her that he only wants what she’s willing to tell. He can’t seem to find the words.

“We were partnered for the next blood bead mission. He gave me a mask so the miasma wouldn’t poison me. We went into the city. He took care of me, protected me, while I figured out the simplest things. He was so encouraging, _upbeat—_ ” Her eyes well up as he looks on in horror. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her cry.

“What happened?” he whispers. “Where is he now?”

“He...His mask, it got damaged in the tunnels.” She swallows. He knows the implications without her saying. “He told me to go on ahead, that he knew I’d be alright on my own and that he’d catch up.” She barks out a laugh. “He was such a liar.”

“He turned into a Lost.” Yakumo thinks of Miguel. “You...You had to kill him, didn’t you?”

She nods. “He went into a frenzy, killed everyone in the camp that had taken us, nearly killed Io. Louis saw the whole thing, jumped in to help. This pendant was his. I found it after he…” She lifts her eyes to meet his and smiles at him, and he clears his throat but can’t look away. “It’s ironic. He never remembered me. And I...I didn’t realize why I’d wanted the pendant, why I’d attached so much value to someone I thought I’d only known for a few hours. Turns out I’d met him long before I was the Queenslayer. He was…” She sighs, and her clenched fingers release the pendant. She tucks it back beneath the neckline of her top. “Doesn’t matter now. I rediscovered the memory so recently, who’s to say it won’t be one of the first to go next time I have to regenerate?”

Yakumo is quiet for a while. There’s a strange feeling in his chest, settling thickly, covering the near-constant ache of his thirst with a heavy sense of discomfort. “Those memories…” He hesitates only a moment and then puts a hand on her knee. Her skin is bare there, through a rip in her tights, and her skin is shockingly warm. “You should treasure them. It counts for something that you were able to see him again, doesn’t it? Even if neither of you remembered at the time, you remember him now, don’t you? And maybe...maybe a part of him did know.”

“Thanks, Yakumo.” She squeezes his hand and smiles at him again, and fuck, he would do anything for that smile. “You always know what to say.”

“Thank _you_ ,” he says, and she cocks her head quizzically. It’s endearing. “For telling me. I’m always here for you, Syb, you know that.”

His thumb strokes her skin, a simple back and forth motion, more to soothe himself than her. He doesn’t understand why he’s bothered. He should be happy, proud she trusts him enough to reveal this part of herself. But it does bother him, just a little, that she’s this connected to someone else—even if that other person is gone now—and he knows that’s irrational. He also knows it’s irrational how much it bothers him that Louis has known this story all along.

He stands and offers Sybil his hand, which she takes, and he almost doesn’t let go. He knows how close she and Louis are. There’s been nights where he’ll hear them talking, awake in her room until the early hours. Most of the people around the base assume there’s more, that the two of them have done more in her room than just...talk. Yakumo’s grip on her hand tightens.

“Yakumo? You okay?”

“Yeah.” He drops her hand. “We should get back.”

When they get back, a week’s worth of blood beads harvested from the blood spring in the caverns, she makes a beeline for Louis. Rationally he knows she has to, he’s the one in charge and she’s just giving her report. It’s late and almost everyone is asleep for the night. Louis is at his desk, reading by candlelight, and Murasame is still tinkering with something. Sybil brings Louis the blood beads, pressing her finger to the wrinkle in his brow. Louis gives her a gentle smile and puts his arm on her shoulder, and Yakumo’s hand tingles. It’s a strange feeling, but he shakes it off and drops his gear with Murasame.

“Everything go okay?” Murasame frowns at him. “You seem tense.”

He rubs his shoulder. “Yeah, I think I’ll hit the hot springs.” He’s already stripping off his shirt on the way, feeling tight and restless. The hot water will help.

“Jeez, Yakumo, at least wait until you get into the spring!”

Yakumo rolls his eyes at her shrill tone and smirks, tossing his shirt across his shoulders. “What, is the view so bad from there, Rin?”

“Just _go_!”

Yakumo laughs, walking off, and out of the corner of his eye he thinks he sees Sybil turn her head toward him; when he checks, looking over his shoulder, she’s turned fully toward Louis and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. 

He strips down to nothing, leaving his clothes in a pile near the entrance to the hot springs. With nearly everyone asleep, he doesn’t bother with the modesty of a towel. No one’s going to come in at this hour anyway. Sinking into the water with a contented sigh, he lets his head rest against the rocks. 

He can’t stop thinking about her.

Louis had scoffed at the rumors that circulated about him and the Queenslayer, dismissed it without hesitation. That should have meant case closed, but Yakumo isn’t so sure. They suit each other, they trust each other, they even look good together. It wouldn’t be surprising at all if they get together, after everything that’s happened.

Dimly, he hears the sound of a door opening and closing. Louis or Sybil must have gone to bed. He closes his eyes and tries not to dwell on her or let his imagination wander too far.

There’s a quiet, feminine “ _oh_ ” from behind him, and his eyes fly open. Sybil is standing there, at the edge of the water, clutching a towel at her breast. For just a second, embarrassment slices through him before he bats it away. 

“Hey, Syb.” He lifts a hand in greeting. It’s always easier to act casual around her. 

“Yakumo.” She glances at his pile of clothes and then back to him—specifically, at where the water covers his waist. “Didn’t bring a towel, I see.”

He shrugs, letting his fingers drag across the surface of the water. He looks out across the spring, at the city beyond, at anything but _Syb in a towel_. “It’s not like I can catch a cold.”

Sybil shakes her head and laughs. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Wouldn’t mind one of your famous back rubs,” he teases, but instead of going along with it she furrows her brow.

“Does your back hurt?” she asks, concerned.

“Aw, now Syb, I didn’t mean to make you worry—” His voice catches in her throat as she undoes the tie at the front of her towel. “S-Syb, what are you doing?”

She looks confused. “Getting in the spring.”

“W-why are you getting naked?”

Now it’s her turn to look amused. “ _You’re_ naked, Yakumo. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Me? Uncomfortable? Never.” He covers his mouth with his hand and looks away until a giggle and soft splash of water indicates she’s in the bath.

He’s unprepared for her when he looks at her again. He can see the swell of her breasts beneath the water, the curve of her hip. He wants to touch her, hungers for it like he hungers for blood, and the urge is so strong that he has to literally sit on his hands to keep from reaching for her.

She gestures at him, making a twirling motion with her finger. “Turn around.”

“W-what?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted a back rub?”

Heat flares in his face. “I was kidding, Syb, you don’t have to—” Her small, strong hands clamp down on his shoulders and start to forcibly turn him. “Alright, alright, yes ma’am.”

He turns the rest of the way, happy in a way for the respite. He can breathe easier now that he’s not looking at her, but when he feels her body pressing against his back he inhales so quickly that it starts him into a coughing fit.

“Yakumo! Are you okay?” She leans over him, her hair brushing his cheek, and he swears this is it, this is what will kill him.

“I’m fine,” he says weakly.

She doesn’t seem satisfied with his answer but says nothing else. Her hands work at the knots in his shoulders and move down his back. He groans before he can stop himself, his head lolling forward. She’s done this for him before, usually after a particularly tough battle, but those circumstances are so much different—he’s usually covered in Lost blood and grime, she’s usually exhausted from ichor drain, and it was always over his shirt. She’s never touched his bare skin like this.

This is dangerous.

“Feeling better?” Her breath fans across his neck, her forehead resting gently on his shoulder as she massages away the tension in his lower back.

“You’re really good at this, Syb.” He hates how husky his voice sounds. He’s sure she can hear the arousal of it and he just wants to sink into the water and drown.

Her hands stop moving across his skin, and he’s positive he’s done something wrong. He tries to figure out how to backtrack—maybe a joke—and she pulls away from him.

_I’m such a fucking idiot_.

He lifts his hand out of the water, runs it through his hair, mussing it in his already loose ponytail. “Syb…”

Then her arms are back, looped around his neck, and _every square inch of her_ is against him, skin on skin— _Syb, are you trying to kill me—_

“Syb.” His voice breaks when he says her name. 

“Thank you, Yakumo.” Her lips are against the nape of his neck. “For today. For everything.”

His hands flex beneath the water, desperate to hold, to feel. He stares doggedly ahead and fights just to keep his breathing normal. He doesn’t trust himself to respond.

And then she’s gone. Her arms slip away from him and there’s the gentle splashing of water as she gets out of the spring and dries herself.

“Goodnight, Yakumo.”

He swallows past the lump in her throat. “Night.”

When she’s gone, he slams his fist against the rocks that surround the spring. His chest heaves and he’s painfully hard, the feel of her stuck in his memory. Doesn’t she know what she’s doing to him? Doesn’t she know how difficult it is for him, especially after what she told him today?

_I want her so badly_.

But he isn’t supposed to want her, _can’t_ want her. They don’t have time for trivial things, not with their mission, the Successors and the survival of their people. She’s got so much to deal with already, he can’t lay his selfish feelings on her too. Nothing can come of this. She can never know.


	2. Adagio

_adagio_

~adjective~

played at a slow tempo

* * *

Yakumo is the first to notice she’s getting weaker. It’s been subtle, almost impossible to tell, but she’s been on a gradual incline of strength over the last few months, mastering blood codes like it was nothing and training weekly with Davis to improve her physical focus, so when she starts to slide backwards Yakumo almost thinks he’s imagining things. But he’s not imagining the way she gets breathless after a mission now, or that her ichor drains twice as fast in battle, or that her cheeks have started to take on a sunken look. He asks Louis about it one day as the younger man maps out their next path through the Cathedral of Sacred Blood.

“Hm? I hadn’t noticed anything wrong.” Louis frowns. “She hasn’t mentioned anything to me.”

It comes to a head one day, when she, Yakumo and Mia are exploring the depths of the Void District. She catches a direct blow from an executioner Lost, its blade lodging firmly in her shoulder, and her scream of pain cuts right through to his soul. He’s never felt this kind of fear before, rushing back to her from the front line. Mia is babbling, near tears—Sybil had taken the blow for her. Yakumo swings Oni Bane and slashes the Lost in half. As it dissolves to ash, he barks orders at Mia.

“Keep the remaining ones off our backs,” he yells. “We have to get her out of here.”

“It’s fine.” Sybil winces. She’s got her hand pressed tightly to the wound. Blood is squeezing between her fingers, drenching her clothes, turning the blue of her blood veil a crimson red. “He didn’t hit my heart.”

“It looks bad, Syb.”

“I’ll just disperse and regenerate next to a mistle,” she says.

“That’s not supposed to be the first choice,” Yakumo snaps. He doesn’t want to risk her memory, doesn’t want to risk her waking up alone in the depths, without him. “It’s not a fucking reset button, Sybil.”

She gives him a wry smile. “I mean, it sort of _is_ , Yakumo.”

“Shut up and hold onto me.” He puts her arms around his neck and stands up with her in his arms. She cries out in pain and _fuck_ its like _he’s_ been stabbed. “Mia! Let’s move!”

“Right!” Mia covers their backs with her bayonet, firing a few times at the hoard that follows them.

Sybil is so light in his arms. It’s like she weighs nothing. Her blood soaks his shirt. There’s too much of it. Her skin is going ashen.

“Are you sure it didn’t hit your heart?” he asks. The wound is deep, it’s nearly cleaved her arm off, there’s a chance it could’ve nicked something close to the heart, maybe—

She doesn’t answer him, and her arms drop from his neck to hang limp from her body. Her eyes are open, staring past him with a glassy, empty look, and her pupils are dilated.

“Syb?” He’s still running, back towards the entrance, towards home, but it feels disconnected from him. “Syb, this isn’t fucking funny, you answer me right now.”

“Is she…” Mia gulps behind him, just barely keeping up with his pace. “Is her heart…?”

“I don’t _know_ , Mia, okay? We just need to get back to base.” He holds Sybil impossibly closer; as long as she is solid in his grip, she’ll be fine. She’ll wake up and be good as new. They _just_ make it back to the mistle at the church when she disperses, vanishing from his arms in little flecks of golden light that settle beside the mistle and form her general shape. In time, she’ll solidify again, and they’ll put her in her bed, and she’ll wake up.

It takes her _three fucking days_.

He sits at her bedside, arms crossed and knee bouncing with impatience. Louis drops by, to see how she’s doing, and Yakumo snaps at him.

“Did you know she hasn’t been feeding?” he demands. “Coco said she hasn’t seen Syb have a blood bead in _over a month._ ”

“Theoretically,” says Louis in a low voice, “she doesn’t need them. The Queen’s blood inside her would mean she has no need for blood beads—”

“Then how do you explain _this_?” Yakumo hisses. “She’s been slower, lethargic. She’s making mistakes. She’s going to get herself _permanently killed_ , Louis, and then what? Or worse, what if she—”

_What if she frenzies?_

Louis has no answer for him. She starts to stir, her breath coming back in a quick, shuddering gasp, and she bolts upright with her eyes wide. Louis looks relieved, standing in the doorway. Gentle, understanding Louis—

Yakumo crushes her against his chest in a fierce hug, his emotions torn between disbelief and anger.

“Y-Yakumo?”

His name, the first thing she says, has never sounded so sweet. He’s furious at her, but he’s also so goddamn happy she’s awake. He can’t reconcile the two feelings.

“Took you long enough,” he mutters into her hair. 

“How...How long has it been?” She starts to squirm in his grip. He holds her tighter. “Yakumo, too tight.”

“Just deal with it for a minute, will you?”

She stills, surprised, and her hands find his back and clutch at his shirt. When he finally pulls back from her, she opens her mouth as if to say something else, but he shoves her back against the pillows and stands up. He pushes past Louis, muttering that he’s going to get her a blood bead, and when he’s out in the hallway, his frustration bubbles over. He wants to kiss her. He wants to protect her, keep her safe, make sure nothing like this ever happens again. He knows they’re nearly immortal, he _knows_ that, but she almost ashed this time and he can’t—he _can’t_ —

Worse than that still, what if she forgets? What if she comes back from something like this next time and she can’t remember their mission, or Io, or Louis, or…

_Or him._

_What if one time she comes back from the brink and she can’t remember him anymore?_

His fist flashes out, connects solidly with the wall—he hears a crack and he’s not sure if it’s the stone or his bones. His hand throbs and the pain gives him some clarity. When he brings her a blood bead, she’s sitting up and speaking with Louis. Louis has taken the chair Yakumo vacated; he shifts as if he’s going to get up, give the chair back, but Yakumo ignores him and plops himself on her bed beside her with his back against the headboard. His leg touches hers. He slips an arm behind her back, his palm between her shoulder blades, and hands her the blood bead.

“I don’t need it,” she says quietly. “There are others that need it more.”

“Drink it or I force feed you,” he counters in a deadpan.

Again, she’s surprised at how hard his tone is, how serious his expression. She takes the blood bead from his hand and pierces the white flesh at its apex, sucking. He watches her, both to make sure she takes it all and also to indulge himself. The act of her drinking is pathetically sensual to him, regardless of Louis’s presence. The other man is almost inconsequential right now. Yakumo watches the movement of her throat as she swallows, his hand rising from her back to cup the back of her neck. It’s a supportive gesture—she’s still weak, still recovering—but a selfish one, so he can feel her skin under his fingertips. She’s wearing the plain clothes Io changed her into when she solidified again, just a loose shirt and shorts. She looks so small like this. Fragile. Like a normal girl.

He waits until she finishes all of it, until the color returns to her face, and then takes the empty blood bead from her. She looks up at him, her eyes flashing blue ever so briefly—from the influence of the Queen’s blood, he knows. Her hair is mussed from the pillow. He smooths it for her, the gesture the softest thing he’s done since she awoke, and for a moment she seems almost content. If Louis weren’t here, he thinks suddenly, he’d kiss her. Consequences be damned, he’d kiss her, like she’s never been kissed before, so that she never forgets—

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” she says, and her lips are so close, all he has to do is lean forward just a bit—

“Make it up to me by not doing it again,” he says gruffly, and if she recognizes the tone of his voice from that night in the hot springs, she doesn’t react. He separates himself from her then, putting distance between them before his crumbling resolve breaks entirely. “You need to take care of yourself, Syb. What would we do if something happened to you?”

She twists her shirt in her hand, above her heart, as if his words pain her. “I’m sorry.”

He leaves her then, because if he stays he’s either going to start yelling or pin her to the bed and make them both sorry.

When she emerges from the room the next day, fully healed and fully fed, she looks healthier than she has in weeks. She even turns away Jack’s offer of a drink, the first time Yakumo has seen her turn down booze...well, ever. She catches his eye across the church hall and gives him a small smile. He tosses something at her, which she snatches out of the air with a sense of bewilderment, and he jerks his head toward the tables placed by the busted wall.

“Onigiri?” she asks, examining the item in her hands as she joins him.

He stares out at the scenery, at the reddened sky and pointed spires. “Thought you could use a little dose of normalcy.” He munches on his own onigiri. He makes them to feel close to his nonexistent humanity, eats them out of habit and familiarity, and now that he’s past his anger he just wants to share that with her.

If he had a beating heart, her smile at his words would have made it stop. “Thank you, Yakumo.” Her words are warm, and she bites into the snack as if she’s savoring it. He knows it doesn't really taste like much, but her eyes close as if she’s enjoying the flavor she imagines might be there. “Have you...gone to see Emily lately?”

The rice he swallows gets stuck in his throat. “I did, once. She mostly just sleeps now. The relic, it takes most of her energy.” He’s reminded of the debt he owes to Sybil, for helping with Mido, for restoring Emily to him—as much as she could anyway, with Emily’s fate as Successor all but sealed. His friend is alive, though—trapped in a beast’s body, but _alive_ —and that is what matters.

“Do you ever wonder…” Sybil looks down at the onigiri in her hands. “Do you ever wonder if what we’re doing makes any difference?”

“Of course it does,” Yakumo answers instantly. “How could you question that?”

“I suppose you’re right.” She finishes the onigiri, still smiling that strange, soft smile. “I guess I just feel like there’s always something _more_.”

“You’re doing plenty,” he says. “We’ve only managed to get this far because of you. Don’t go doubting yourself now, Syb, or I’ll have to smack you.” He’s joking, teasing her like he always does, and she raises a delicate eyebrow.

“You couldn’t hit me if you tried,” she teases back, and he’s so relieved she’s alive, unchanged.

His gaze drops to the column of her neck. “You’re not wearing your pendant.”

“My what?” She frowns, and ice settles in his veins. “What pendant?”

She had been right, it seems, in her concern that her memories of Oliver would leave first the next time she dispersed. Yakumo licks his lips—he has a decision to make. He could try to jog her memory, or fill it in for her. There is pain that comes with that choice though, for her. The pain of a lost loved one; he’d be making her relive losing that man all over again. If she doesn’t remember him, she doesn’t remember losing him. Perhaps that would be better for her, healthier.

Then he thinks about Riki. He had forgotten Riki briefly, had forgotten who the man was in the photo with himself and Emily. Sybil had been the one to help him remember, encouraging him, helping him through the fresh pain and sadness that accompanied the memory. He swallows.

“Oliver’s pendant,” he says, and he can’t take it back now.

She’s still frowning, touching the hollow of her throat where the green jewel usually sat. “Oliver…that name, it sounds so familiar.” She looks panicked now, eyes widening. “He’s someone I’ve forgotten, haven’t I? This is what I lost during the last regeneration.” She grasps at Yakumo’s arm. “Do you know? Who he is? I can’t…”

He sighs and sits her down. He could have kept this hidden, kept this inside. Maybe she would have remembered eventually, of her own volition, or maybe it would remain gone forever—but he doesn’t feel right keeping it from her, even if it means reestablishing that small distance between them that her past lover creates. He tells her what she had told him before of Oliver, and he can see the recognition in her eyes after a while. She’s holding his hand as he talks, and she gets that look in her eyes again, like she might cry at any moment. Her hand starts to shake—why does it always shake when she thinks of him—and he knows she remembers now, and grips her hand harder to stop the trembling.

“Oliver Collins,” she whispers, over and over again as Yakumo finishes up. When Yakumo is done, she drops her head into her other hand. Her eyes see something far away. “Oliver. I kissed him in the barracks before they sent me to Jack’s team for Operation Queenslayer. He had the softest green eyes. He tasted like brandy.” She digs the heel of her palm into her eyes and squeezes Yakumo’s hand.

There’s a few moments where neither of them say anything. Yakumo waits, and eventually she looks up again. 

“I’m alright,” she says, and her voice is sad again, so sad that he almost regrets his choice. “Thank you, for giving him back to me.”

He releases her hand, and she stands up, assumingly with the intention of getting her pendant. She hesitates first though—he almost doesn’t notice, caught up in his own thoughts, in the loss of her warmth from his fingertips. He’s so busy thinking about how she’s taken a figurative step back from him _again_ that he doesn’t notice when she leans over and presses her lips to his forehead.

“What would I do without you, Yakumo?” she murmurs, and her voice holds so much affection that it nearly bowls him over.

He lets it wash over him like warm water, like standing in the sun after too long in the shade. Her fingers graze his cheek, his jaw, and he wants to pull her down to him, to feel her lips against his own, not his forehead. He’s too stunned to move though, staring at her in shocked reverence, and by the time all his neurons start firing again she is already walking away from him.

He has never wanted, hungered, _desired_ something so much in his life, even before he was a revenant. He’d destroy himself, anything, to have her, just a taste. It’s an obsession, he’s starting to realize.

Well. That can’t be good.


	3. Nocturne

_nocturne_

~noun~

a dreamy pensive composition for the piano

* * *

She tastes like the memory of honey. He runs his tongue along the seam of her lips and groans when she opens to him. His hands make a slow path across her skin, dragging up from her waist to her soft breasts, up to stroke her cheek. She pulls back to breathe and smile, wide and brilliant, and he tilts her face up and goes back for more. He can’t stop kissing her. He’ll never stop kissing her.

The hand that’s on her cheek moves down her body again, tracing every scar, every freckle, everything he can touch. He wants to memorize her. When he delves between her legs, she’s soaking and he nearly falls apart.

“Fuck, Syb, so fucking sexy, so fucking amazing,” he moans into her mouth.

She’s whispering his name, over and over, quietly like she’s holding back. He wants to hear her, make her scream, fill her with so much pleasure that she can’t control her volume. He doesn’t care if the whole base hears them. He doesn’t care if the Lost can hear them. She’s in his arms and she’s perfect.

He could drown in her and die a happy man.

Instead, he wakes up.

His palms are sweaty, his body on fire. It was a dream, he realizes. A fucking _dream_.

He’s angry at himself, short-tempered, for the rest of the day. She is concerned about him, making a point to be around him, and that just makes it worse. It’s been a few weeks since that time she dispersed, since he realized the depths of his desires for her, and he feels awkward and stilted around her.

They’ve calmed all of the Successors now and discovered a location, the Gaol of Stagnant Blood, which Jack says is the final crypt. The resting place of Gregorio Silva, the Successor of the Brain, who maintains the red mist. The mist needs constant blood supply to be maintained, both protecting the outside world from the revenants and also protecting the revenants from the horrors beyond. They defeated Mido but the damage is done—the only option now, Jack reveals, is for someone to replace Silva.

The group is quiet after Jack finishes up. Yakumo is watching Sybil—he’s always watching Sybil—and immediately knows what is going to happen when she gets a resolved look and opens her mouth.

“I—”

“No.”

The group turns to look at Yakumo, then at Sybil. Mia is confused, Louis is grim. Eva...for some reason Eva looks like she pities him.

Sybil narrows her eyes. “I’ll do it.”

“ _No_.” Yakumo repeats it firmer. He crosses his arms across his chest.

Sybil looks at Jack. “I’ll replace Silva, I can do it—”

“I said _no_ , Syb.”

“The fuck are you talking about Yakumo?” she yells. Her fists are clenched at her sides. “The fuck do you mean, _no_? It’s _my_ decision—”

“It’s a dumbass fucking decision,” Yakumo barks back. “You’re already the Successor of Blood, Syb, who knows if you could even handle another relic—”

“That’s not your choice to make—”

“You could frenzy!” he roars, forgetting they’re in a group, forgetting his friends are watching him, _them_. 

Sybil is deadly, dangerously, quiet when she says, “I know you won’t let that happen.”

His blood runs cold. “Syb, don’t you dare.”

“If I lose control, I know you’ll stop me, Yakumo.” She’s not looking at anyone else, she’s looking at him, she’s _asking him to_ —

“I can’t,” he says, and his anger has fled. His voice cracks. “I can’t do what you’re asking me to do, Syb. I won’t.” He takes a hesitant, shaking step toward her. “And I won’t have to, because _you’re not going to do it_.”

“There isn’t another option!” He’s stunned to hear her voice break as well. “And you’d better not try to go all chivalrous and suggest that _you_ do it instead of me because I swear, Shinonome, I will dust you myself if you even try.” But she isn’t angry, she’s upset. She’s in near hysterics at the idea of him taking Silva’s place. Before the magnitude of that can fully sink in, however, Jack says something that stops him dead.

“We don’t have another choice,” he says. “Anyone else will frenzy instantly. Sybil is the only one who has shown enough compatibility with the Queen. She’s our best hope.”

Yakumo storms off, gritting his teeth. He can’t listen to this another second—they’re talking about _sacrificing_ her—

He can hear footsteps chasing after him but he continues down the hall, his face in his hands, and he just wants to scream.

“Yakumo!” she calls after him, and her voice sounds so _pained_.

“What, Syb?” He whirls on her, throat clogged. “If you’ve come to try and convince me to support your decision—”

“Yakumo,” she says again, and something about her face makes him stop. He’s never seen her look so desperate. “It has to be you.”

“What?” His mouth is dry.

“I know it’s a lot to ask.” She’s practically whispering, and with each word she takes another step closer to him. He can’t breathe. “But it has to be you, Yakumo. If I frenzy—”

“Stop it, Syb,” he hisses harshly.

“ _If I frenzy_ ,” she repeats, and then she’s right in front of him. Her small hand reaches for his arm, curls around his bicep. Just the smallest pressure, nothing more, but he feels it like it's a hefty weight. “I want it to be you that ends it.”

“ _Sybbie_ ,” he pleads, and he sounds so much like a child. “ _Please._ ”

“It can’t be Jack, or Louis.” The hand on his arm raises to his jaw, cups his face. “You. Promise me.”

He grasps hopelessly at her hand and holds it against his cheek. “You won’t frenzy.” He can’t change her mind, he can see that. She’s going to do this no matter what he thinks. He’s going to lose her. But he can’t promise to be the one...to be the one…

“If I do—”

“You’re asking me to kill you, Syb,” he says. He closes his eyes and just savors her touch. “I can’t.”

“Please, Yakumo. This is the last thing I’ll ever ask you to—”

“No, stop it.” He’s holding _her_ face in his hands and he’s staring into her eyes and there’s just _so much he wants to tell her_ . “If you’re going to do this—if you _have_ to do this—don’t ask me to kill you. I can’t bear it, Syb, it’s too much.” He pulls her into a hug, and there’s so much more he wants to say but the words catch in his throat. How can he tell her now?

“Yakumo…”

In the end he doesn’t promise her. And he doesn’t tell her. The group makes a plan, to leave the next morning. The atmosphere is somber. Mia cries. Jack asks Sybil if she’s ready, if she has anything she wants to do. Io has been sitting at her feet for hours, a silent comfort, while Sybil just sits in an armchair staring at nothing.

“Do?” Sybil asks. She makes eye contact with Yakumo. “No. Not particularly.”

Soon everyone goes to sleep. The two girls, Io and Sybil, are talking quietly as Yakumo pulls his leaden body from the couch.

“It will be just like a long rest,” Io says. “I’ll be there, beside you.”

“Io…” The girl loves Sybil, that’s been clear from the beginning. They were inseparable when they first came here, their bond unbreakable from the outset. Like sisters. “I want you to stay here.”

“But it is my duty, to stay by your side.”

Sybil gives another sad smile, squeezing Io’s hand as the amber-eyed girl sits on her bed. “Who will look after Yakumo? Make sure he doesn’t do anything rash while I’m gone.”

Io, so stoic, looks like she could weep. Sybil strokes her hair and the girl lays down.

“Get some sleep,” she says. “Big day tomorrow.”

“I will…” Io hesitates. “I will do what I must. For you.”

Sybil blows out the candles, and it's then that she notices Yakumo hasn’t gone to bed yet. She walks toward him, the moonlight casting shadows on her face. She is beautiful. Ethereal. He would rather die a hundred times than live through tomorrow. 

“You should get some sleep, too,” he says, and he regrets the words immediately.

“I’m about to get an inordinate amount of sleep, wouldn’t you say?” Her smile is wry and drops from her face after only a few seconds. “Jack asked me if there was anything I wanted to do.”

“Is there?” Not for the first time, he’s so desperate to touch her that his body aches. It feels like his heart will claw out of his chest and skitter away.

“Will you just…” She swallows and he watches the motion, entranced. “Will you just hold me?”

At a loss for words, he nods. He’ll give her anything she wants tonight. She could ask for the stars and he’d get them for her.

He follows her back to her room, silent, awed. She strips her outfit off with hesitant hands—he’s never seen her so unsure. He stops her hand, kisses her fingertips because he still can’t seem to speak, and hands her the tank top that’s sitting out on her bed. She puts on a pair of loose shorts and sits down on the bed. He realizes she’s waiting for him, and removes his own shirt, and then moves to sit next to her. She stops him and puts her hand on his belt. He can’t seem to get enough air. Something has clicked for her. She’s sure now, removing his belt and tugging down his camo pants until they pool at his ankles and he steps out of them. Then she scoots herself back in the bed, bunching up the covers with her feet. She pats the space beside her, and he climbs in. They settle together like puzzle pieces. She nestles perfectly against his side, his arm loose around her waist and her head fitting neatly against his chest at the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. He wants to speak. He wants to tell her how much she means to him. He wants to tell her that she doesn’t have to suffer this alone. He wants to talk her out of this whole thing.

And he wants to promise her that it will be him. Not Louis. Not Jack.

Him.

But what he says is, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” She cranes her neck to look up at him, frowning. Her hair is like silk on his skin.

He lifts his hand to touch the pendant at her neck. She even wears it to sleep. “For not being him. I’m sure you miss him. I’m sure you’d prefer him right now.”

Something unfathomable flashes across her face. “I do miss him. But I didn’t ask for him tonight, did I? I asked for you.”

“He’s gone, Syb, you couldn’t have asked for him—”

“You asked me what I wanted tonight.” She presses her hand hard against his sternum. He’s made her angry. “I could have asked for anything.”

He’s quiet, sheepish. “You’re right,” he says, and she settles back down and seems to curl herself around him even tighter. This would be heaven, under different circumstances. As it is, he can’t help thinking of this as his last chance.

“Syb, I—”

“Don’t.” She places a gentle kiss against his skin. “Don’t say goodbye just yet.”

So he just holds her, so perfect in his arms, until her breathing evens and she falls asleep. He can’t sleep, scared to close his eyes and miss a single moment of this. When morning comes, he’ll have to wake her. He’ll have to shatter this perfect, temporary world they’ve built together, just the two of them in this room.

He holds her tighter and presses his lips to her hair. _I love you_.

That’s just it, isn’t it? He loves her. He loves her with everything that he is. And tomorrow, he loses her forever.


	4. Obbligato

_obbligato_

~noun~

an elaborate especially melodic part accompanying a solo or principal melody

* * *

Yakumo will never forget that day.

Io took her place, _saved_ her, grew into a bloodspring they started calling the Weeping Tree. All the Successors were restored, and Sybil—

Sybil disappeared.

She’d looked so _vacant_ when Io transformed. He still hates thinking about it, even now; it broke his heart. The tree bestowed to her a glowing amber blood bead—he saw tears in her eyes, and he was already on the move, to swallow her up in his arms where nothing could ever harm her again—she was _alive_ , she was _safe_ , he didn’t have to lose her, he didn’t have to _kill her_ —

The tree glowed, a blinding white light. Yakumo had to shield his eyes from it, and when it dimmed she was gone.

Just... _gone_.

“Yakumo?”

He’s stirred from his memory by a light, girlish voice. “Hey, sorry. You say something?”

Emily smiles at him, hands clasped behind her back. “Something on your mind?”

“Not really.” He lets his fingers curl around his glass. He has finally opened the bottle of boutique sake Sybil found for him. She told him to save it for a special occasion.

Emily’s eyes drop down to the bottle. It’s been good to have her back, have them all back, but he still…

“It’s a year ago today,” she says quietly. “Isn’t it?”

A year. Yakumo drinks down his glass in one large gulp. It’s been a year.

They looked for her at first, they all did. They would take sweeps of the area, eventually branching out across the cathedral’s sprawling layout. After three months, Jack gave up; after eight, Mia; and then, a little over a month ago, Louis announced he was done. They got in a pretty gruesome fight about it actually—Yakumo split his knuckles on Louis’s cheekbone.

“She’s gone, Yakumo!” Louis shouted at him, his composure gone, his own blood dripping from his face. 

And Yakumo had gone out, to everywhere they hadn’t checked—he wandered for days, searching, and when Louis found him near frenzy, sitting at a mistle in the old ruined park where he’d once fought by her side, Yakumo wept. His whole body shook with the force of it. Louis said nothing, just let him grieve, and brought him back to base.

They’ve barely said a word to each other since.

If it wasn’t clear before to everyone at the base what Sybil meant to him, he’s sure it’s clear now. He pours himself another glass of sake and Emily lets him be. Very, very briefly, he feels guilty about being so distant with her. It’s been hard to be close to her lately. Especially because she kept trying to get him to join the Provisional Government. Especially because he now has an inkling of what she’d been about to say, back when Sybil restored her memories. _“Yakumo, I’ve always…”_ He’s glad, selfishly glad, she’s never brought it up since.

Mia is playing music on the jukebox. They got rid of the bed Io used to sleep in, similarly to how Sybil’s old room is locked—too painful. Mia looks at the empty spot and announces over the music, “We should dust off the piano and move it farther away from the wall.”

“No one plays it anymore,” Yakumo answers back and tips his glass into his mouth. Sybil used to, had remembered a few sonatas that he’s convinced are from her life before the Great Collapse, though she never spoke about it. The pleasant buzz from the alcohol is starting to settle in. He pours another. Dimly, he hears a bang somewhere. Probably Nicola knocking something over in the storage room downstairs. Kid’s a klutz.

“I can play a little.” Eva is sitting at the other end of the bar, next to where Jack reads.

“If you wanna feng shui the place, go ahead.” Yakumo lifts the sake to his lips and contemplates just drinking straight from the bottle. “Might wanna get your kid brother first before he drops a crate on his head.”

“What? Nicola’s right there.” Mia gestures to where Nicola is curled up on the couch. Asleep.

There’s another bang, louder this time, and he sets his glass down. A second one comes, and by the third one he’s on his feet. Louis is up from his desk, reaching for his blade. 

One last bang—against the door of the church. It flies open, swinging to hit the wall, and a woman stumbles in. Yakumo gets a strange sense of deja vu to when Eva stumbled in, begging them to help Jack. The comparison is nailed home when the woman lifts her head and he sees her eyes glowing crimson. But there’s no other sign of frenzy, and despite the longer hair she looks just like—

“Syb,” he breathes.

Sybil steadies herself, straightening up. Her hair is down to her waist now, and she’s got a new scar, but it’s her. “Sorry,” she says, gesturing to the door. The wood is splintered. “It was locked.” Her eyes—still glowing that dangerous, bloodthirsty red—look right past him. Right at… “We need to talk.”

* * *

She and Louis disappear into her old room. Yakumo paces the length of the hallway. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but Louis is talking the most. He can’t believe she didn’t say a word to him, didn’t even _look at him_. He’d thought they were closer than that, after everything. He’d thought—

The door opens and Louis comes out.

“Is she okay?” Yakumo is already going for the door, but Louis stops him. He closes it behind him. “What did she say?”

“She’s fine.” Louis sighs. “She’d been experimenting too much with the blood codes, that’s why her eyes were like that. It’s harder for her to switch between them since losing the Queen’s blood. She still _can_ , her Void type hasn’t been reversed, but…” Louis runs a hand through her hair.

“There’s more, isn’t there? Where has she been for the past year?” Yakumo fires off the questions rapidly. All he wants is for Louis to move, so he can get through the door and ask her these questions directly.

“She wants my help with blood bead research.”

“Just you?” Fuck does that _hurt_. “Why just you?”

Louis bits his lip. “Karen, too. And Aurora. Sybil wants to share our research about the red mist.”

“That’s it?” Yakumo asks. “That’s the only reason she came back?”

“I’m sorry, Yakumo.” Louis sounds genuine, putting his hand on Yakumo’s shoulder. It’s the first contact they’ve had since Yakumo punched him. “I wish I had a different answer for you. Sybil, she’s...not the same.”

But he doesn’t believe him, reaching past the smaller man to the doorknob. Louis catches him by the wrist.

“Yakumo,” he says. “I’m saying this as your friend. She’s not who she was a year ago.”

“Of course she is,” Yakumo snaps, and he opens the door.

She’s sitting on the floor, surrounded by photos and papers, a drained blood bead at her side. She doesn’t look up when the door closes.

“I told you that was all I needed, Louis. I’ll talk to Karen tomorrow to get her half of the research.” She glances up from her papers. “Oh. You’re not Louis.”

“Syb,” he says. “What happened to you? After Io, you just…”

“I had some things I needed to figure out.” She looks away from him, back down at the papers. Her eyes have returned to normal. She rearranges two of the papers, diagrams and writing sprawled haphazardly. “I can move faster on my own.”

He doesn’t let the cold, formal tone put him off. He’s been waiting for this day for a year. He takes a shaky step toward her and she looks up again.

“I searched for you,” he says, his voice no louder than a whisper. “This whole time, I…”

“Louis mentioned that.” Her eyes are ice. “Didn’t think you’d do that or I’d have told you to save yourself the trouble.”

“What are you saying? Why are you shutting me out?”

She rubs her temples, sighing. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Yakumo? I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

He doesn’t remember leaving her room, but he must have—he’s back at the bar now, taking that drink directly from the sake bottle. He remembers when she gifted it to him. _“Wanna join me? It’s no fun drinking alone.” “Come on, Yakumo, a bottle this nice has to be saved for something special.”_

Maybe she’s forgotten, his stunned brain rationalizes. Maybe over the last year she dispersed and lost some of her memories of him. That must be it, that must be why she’s acting the way she is. How can he make her see, how can he remind her—

But it takes her days to leave her room, and when she does the walls are covered in the results of her research. She only heads to the bar to grab a bottle of whiskey and calls for Aurora. He catches a glimpse of her in that short period before the door closes again—she’s still wearing Oliver’s pendant. It’s another three days before she comes out again, her bottle is empty, and she disappears into the hot springs and then grabs another bottle. He reaches for her when she comes back, her hair dripping—he thinks about that time in the hot springs and wonders if she’s ever thought about it.

She glares down at his hand on her arm. “Need something, Shinonome?”

“I—” He frowns. “I’m just worried about you, Syb.”

“You don’t need to be concerned.” He can tell from the way her jaw works that she’s biting the inside of her cheek. “I’m doing perfectly fine.”

“Talk to me,” he pleads. “Do you have any idea how painful it was for me when you vanished like that?”

Her cold facade cracks, just slightly, and he can see his Syb underneath—he can almost physically _see_ as she starts rebuilding her mask.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, but she’s more hesitant now.

He’s sure she’s getting chilly, her hair wet, still in her towel from the hot spring. His eyes follow a bead of water as it trails from her neck down the valley of her breasts and disappears beneath the fabric. His throat is suddenly dry.

“Doesn’t matter?” he croaks. “I didn’t know what had happened to you. I didn’t know if you were dead, or worse—” He leans close, searches her eyes. “Do you really not see how that would affect me? Do you really not know how I feel about—” He swallows thickly. He can’t finish the sentence. She has to know, she _must_ know.

Her mask cracks again. “I can’t,” she whispers.

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t deal with this right now, Yakumo.” She twists in his grip, turning away from him. “Not after Io—”

“You can _talk_ to me about this, Syb. I’m here, I’ve always been here.”

“I can’t lose anyone else!” she shouts, and he’s stunned to see she’s crying. “Now let me _go_ , Shinonome!”

“You won’t lose me, Syb.”

“ _Let go!_ ”

“Syb—”

The sound of her slap echoes down the hall—he hears it first before the sting sets in. She rushes past him, back into her room, and the slamming door brings him back to himself. She _slapped_ him. He feels soulless, numb, and rests his forehead against the wood of her closed door. His cheek aches.

“Push me away all you want,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere, Syb.”

He’s met with silence. His fingers flex against the door. He wishes he would have kissed her, that last night before the Gaol of Stagnant Blood. He wishes he’d have told her he loves her. He doesn’t want regrets like that again.

“I was so scared.” His words echo. From within her room, she’s silent. “When I saw you step forward to take those relics—it was so much more than what you’d agreed to do. I thought there was no way you could handle it, that I’d have to watch you destroy yourself. It hurt _so much_.” He closes his eyes. “I’m sorry about Io. We miss her, too, but fuck, Syb, I’m so fucking happy you’re okay.”

She never does answer. He sinks to the floor, his back against her door, and falls asleep there.

Sybil spends the next day hunched over books, Louis standing _far too close to her_ and Yakumo watching from the bar. She’s gone through half their liquor stash; he’ll have to go on a supply run searching for more. Emily spots him with a wide smile and takes a seat next to him. She notices where his gaze continues to fall and her smile tempers a bit.

“How’s it going?” she asks.

“Fine.” He drags his eyes away from Sybil to face his friend fully.

She puts her elbow on the bartop, leaning her chin in her hand. “Don’t lie, Yakumo.”

His fists clench. “What do you want me to say? She doesn’t want to talk to me.” Jealousy burns hot in his chest at all the time she’s been spending with Louis. He wonders, not for the first time, if Louis has any feelings for Sybil. How could he not? She’s gorgeous, _fearless_ , smart and funny—

“Have you told her how you feel?” Emily’s voice is quiet.

“She hasn’t given me the chance.”

“Then just take it.” Emily sighs. “From what I’ve heard about her, she’s just in pain. She’s lost a lot of people she cares about. She might not want to give you the chance to become someone else she could lose. You have to just tell her anyway.”

“What if…” He looks back to Sybil. She’s smiling faintly at Louis, the first time she’s smiled since she came back. His chest tightens. “What if I’m not what she wants?”

To his surprise, Emily laughs and punches his shoulder. “Self-doubt isn’t a good look for you, Yakumo.”


	5. Vivace

_vivace_

~adverb~ 

in a lively or brisk manner

* * *

It takes two weeks for him to work up the courage to tell her, and a final push from an unexpected source.

“This is fucking asinine,” growls Jack. 

Yakumo lifts his head; he’s been dozing off at the bar. Jack is holding an empty brandy bottle, his face twisted into a scowl.

“Do you two plan to drink yourselves to death before you just admit you fucking love each other?” Jack throws the bottle—it shatters against the far wall.

From the faded starlight outside, Yakumo concludes it’s night. A quick glance around tells him there’s no one else but him and Jack.

Yakumo licks his cracked lips. “What?”

“It’s pathetic, watching you stare after her with puppy eyes,” Jack snarls, “but now it’s interfering with the supply stock. She’s no better. I swear she hasn’t been sober for more than an hour since she came back. Get your shit together and talk to her, or I’ll murder you both.”

“She...and Louis…” She and Louis have been inseparable since she returned. They’re together every spare second, he’s always in her room.

“Are you saying you’ve never eavesdropped on their conversations?” Jack rolls his eyes. “How honorable of you. I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He drops next to Yakumo’s head, as if he’s going to whisper, and instead shouts, “All they do is talk about his research and _you_.”

Yakumo’s body seems to understand the implications of that before his brain does—before it fully sinks in what Jack has said, Yakumo’s on his feet, marching down the hall to her room. He briefly wonders if she’s asleep, but his fist is raised and he’s slamming the side of it against her door. It only takes three heavy knocks before it opens, Sybil standing there with an incredulous look on her face, still fully dressed as if she were never sleeping in the first place.

“Yakumo?” She’s surprised into expression, her face a mask of worry, so much like his old Syb. “Something wrong?”

“Everything is wrong.” He steps into her room without waiting for an invitation—she’s still caught off guard, so she lets him, numbly closing the door before her senses start to return and she begins to look angry. “We need to talk.”

“It’s late,” she snaps, rubbing her forehead. “Can’t this wait until the morning?”

“No. No more waiting.”

She peers at his face, scowling. “Are you drunk?”

“No more than you,” he says back, eyes finding the empty liquor bottles strewn across the room.

“Alright, get out—” She’s striding toward him, to grab his arm and physically force him out, but Jack and alcohol have loosened his tongue so he blurts it quickly before he can lose his nerve.

“I’m in love with you.”

She nearly trips on her way to him, her eyes wide. She looks like a caught rabbit. “W-What?”

He swallows. He isn't sure what he expected. A part of him has romanticized it, that she’d fall into his arms after he told her—the Yakumo in his own head was much more suave, though.

“I’m in love with you.” He repeats it softer, putting as much feeling as he can into the words. His voice breaks. “I’ve been... _hopelessly_ in love with you since…” He can’t pinpoint a date, it had come so naturally. It’s like trying to imagine a time when he wasn’t breathing. Now, when he tries to think back, he can’t imagine a time when he didn’t love her. “I don’t know what’s wrong, or what’s changed since last year, but just _talk to me_ , Syb.”

She looks stunned. It takes her several moments, several agonizing moments, for her to recover. When she does, she drops her gaze from him to the floor. He can’t see her expression.

“I’m sorry, Yakumo.”

His world comes crashing down. She’s rejecting him. Jack was wrong, that fucking _idiot_ , Yakumo is going to kill him—

“Right.” Yakumo steps past her, reaching for the door, but as he does he catches her bringing her hand to her mouth and he freezes. “No, not right.” He turns back to her, watching the subtle trembling of her shoulders. “Tell me why.”

There’s a broken sob, and that gives him a strange, renewed sense of hope. She doesn’t answer.

“You felt it, too,” he says. “You came to me, spent the night with _me_ , when you thought you were going to die. So tell me why, Syb.” She’s still turned away from him. He wants to touch her, turn her around, but he’s afraid his resolve will crumble. “Is it...because of him?” He’s not sure if he means Oliver or Louis.

“Io.”

That isn’t an answer he’s expecting.

“It’s my fault Io is gone.”

He waits, wondering what that has to do with this. She says nothing else. “It’s not your fault. Io made her choice. She wanted to save you.”

“Io sacrificed herself because I was selfish,” Sybil says, and she sounds so ashamed. “She knew I didn’t really want to do it, I didn’t want to die, I didn’t want to leave _you_. She knew what she was going to do, as soon as I told her to look after you, _she knew_ , and she never even hinted at her plan. She loved me _so much_ that she died so that I could love _you_.” She’s crying in earnest now, clutching at her chest as if she’s in pain. “Do you have any idea how much that _stings_? I couldn’t just leap into your arms after that, I had to try and save her, I had to do _something_ —”

He’s holding her now, because that’s as good as a confession to him, and having her cry is tearing him apart. “That’s why you left?”

“I was researching a way to restore her.” Sybil sniffs. Her crying has stemmed. He tightens his arms around her, buries his face in her hair. “I felt so guilty—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what? That I loved you so much that Io _died_ for it?” She turns in his arms and grinds her forehead against his chest, hiding from his face. “What kind of person does that make me?”

“Io wanted you to be happy.” He swallows, his hands on her shoulders, and pushes her back slightly. She still won’t look at him, so he lifts her chin to make her. “Making yourself miserable isn’t honoring her memory. This isn’t why she took your place.”

“Yakumo…” Her eyes are so conflicted. “I...said awful things to you, didn’t I?”

“It’s alright,” he says, his voice lowering a few octaves. Her lips are so close and he’s _dying_. “I think I know how you can make it up to me.”

When he finally— _f_ _inally finally_ **_finally_** —kisses her, Yakumo _soars._

He could sprout wings and fly.

He could bench press a thousand pounds.

He could sing opera from the rooftops.

She whimpers helplessly and he’s lost in her, everything that she is. How had he lived before this moment?

She tastes better than he dreamed, sweeter than ambrosia. She smells faintly of liquor and lavender, her lips softer than rose petals, and when she presses against him he feels like he could cry.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” he whispers against her mouth. He’s cupping her face, feeling her hand over his heart. “Damn it, Syb, I love you so much.”

He’ll have to send Jack a thank you present.

The sweetness starts to fade, morph, into a hunger sitting low in his stomach. He wonders what she’ll allow. He wants everything.

“Syb—” He chokes on his next words when her hands leave him and reach for the hem of her own top. She hesitates at his expression, and he wonders what his face looks like that would make her pause. He’s back on her in a moment, mouth desperate and starving, and he replaces her hands to peel her shirt off himself.

A tiny voice in his mind is whispering that he should slow down, take his time, treasure her—be a gentleman, it says. He’s sure Louis would be a gentleman. He wonders if Oliver was. And it’s not like he doesn’t want to listen to that voice. But he’s not Louis. He’s not Oliver. He’s crass and a little rough around the edges and even as he tries to consciously rein it in, force his touch just a bit more delicate, his hands start to shake with the strain of holding back.

Sybil, perceptive as ever, notices and misinterprets it. She’s undone his ponytail so she can run her fingers through his hair, but she stops and searches his eyes.

“Yakumo?” she asks.

“I-I…” He’s mildly embarrassed, speaking through gritted teeth. Her lips are swollen from his kisses. He wants to devour her. “Just give me a second, okay? It’s...hard to restrain.”

“Restrain?” She figures it out and smirks, and _that_ sends a jolt of pleasure between his legs. “Oh, Yakumo…” She places her lips close to his ear, the brush of her hair and warmth of her breath driving him near madness. “What made you think you needed to do that?”

To emphasize her point, her hands slip under his mesh shirt and he groans, low and rumbling, and she _shivers_ at the sound. 

“You sure?” he asks, because he has to be sure, he has to know that she—

She looks mildly annoyed and starts working at his belt. He laughs, stopping her hands, and kisses her fingertips just like he had that night.

“Need to hear it, angel.” 

She flushes prettily at the term of endearment. “I’m sure, Yakumo. How much longer are you going to wait?”

He can’t stop smiling. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy. He kisses her again and she opens her mouth to him. Her tongue presses to his and suddenly he’s impatient. Distantly he hears the sound of tearing fabric, realizing through his haze that he’s ripped her bra. He pushes her pants off her hips as she laughs and then reclaims her lips, walking her backwards to her bed. She busies herself undressing him, and the feeling sends sparks across his skin. When she’s underneath him, he has to pause to remember to breathe.

She’s beautiful.

“Hey,” she says softly. She touches his face and he’s never felt like this before. He’s starting to doubt if it’s real. Her hair is fanning out around her like a halo and she’s naked beneath him—what if this is a dream? Like last time. “Yakumo.”

He kisses her with overflowing desperation; if this is a dream, he’s going to get his fill before he wakes up.

Her hand on his chest stops him. “Hey,” she says again. “Where did you go just now?”

“I’ve just…” He trails his touch along her body, relishing in the goosebumps it raises on her skin. “I want this more than anything.”

Her answering smile is brilliant. She reaches down to touch him and he groans again. Her touch is heaven. He worries he won’t last, and there’s so many things he wants to do to her, so many ways he wants to make her writhe in pleasure.

He whispers once more that he loves her, interlacing their fingers and pressing her down into the bed, and sets his lips to her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks so much for reading.  
> The next two chapters are going to be essentially bonus chapters; next up will be the (totally optional) reason for the story's mature rating. It will have graphic sexual content in it, but is optional to the story itself. The chapter after will be a retelling of the story from Sybil's perspective instead of Yakumo's!  
> I'd like to give a special shoutout to Linnkatt for all their kind comments on each chapter of my story. Thank you for posting and letting me know how much you're enjoying the story, it's incredibly appreciated!


	6. Cadenza (Bonus)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is mature sexual content contained in this chapter.  
> Beyond mature content and fluff, there is no story-relevant content in this chapter. If you don't want to read sexual content, you may skip this chapter and wait for the next bonus chapter, which will be told from Sybil's point of view.  
> As always, thank you for reading!

_cadenza_

~noun~

a technically brilliant sometimes improvised solo passage toward the close of a concerto

* * *

Her neck is covered in love bites, and she’s moaning so sweetly just like he always imagined. She calls him a tease but he’s hardly paying attention; he scrapes his teeth against the lovely column of her throat, careful not to break the skin—the last thing he needs is to accidentally drink from her. The thought of going on a frenzy stark naked makes him chuckle, a rumbling sound against her collarbone.

Her hands have been roaming his back, tracing his scars. “Are you ever going to do anything else?” she asks, breathless and impatient.

“I’m going to map every inch of you,” he growls in response, moving his mouth only slightly lower to drag his tongue along the tops of her breasts. “Is that a problem?”

She gives a short, wisping laugh that dissolves into another moan as he descends onto her breasts, taking a nipple between his lips. He doesn’t know how long he spends at that next section of her body; she starts shaking, her hips canting up against his, and he pins her arms at her side so he can focus. That makes her gasp, and he has to stop and kiss her again. She’s rubbing her thighs together, and there’s a gorgeous, wild sort of look in her eyes.

“Yakumo,” she whispers. “ _Please_.”

But he’s not done, he’s not nearly done. Even if she asks him so nicely, even if her voice sounds _amazing_ saying his name in that kind of blind desire, there’s still more he wants. And oh god does he _want_.

“Patience, angel,” he says, kissing a path down her taut stomach. She arches her back to try and force him where she wants him most. “You’re _so_ beautiful, Syb. I love you like this.”

He has to release her arms as he continues down her body, and instantly her fingers are in his hair. He grins, spreading her legs and placing a kiss on the inside of her thigh, reveling in her frustrated groan.

“I thought you weren’t going to make me wait anymore, Shinonome.” She wants to sound firm, threatening, but she sounds thoroughly debauched. Part of him wants her to beg.

“You mean you’re not enjoying this?” He nips at her thigh and she nearly jumps off the bed. Her fingers tighten in his hair. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Yakumo, I swear—”

Then his tongue makes a long, slow lick up her slit, flicking briefly across her bud, and anything else she might have said disappears from her throat in a strangled cry. He decides instantly that he adores the sound.

“Just fuck me already,” she says, but her hands are pushing his head back down, her body more honest than her words.

He sets his tongue back to her, attaching the same attention he had given to the rest of her. She’s a moaning, shivering mess before he curls his finger into her, his tongue on her clit, and she comes with a cry. He gives her a moment to catch her breath, lifting his head to watch her in her afterglow, and when he adds a second finger her eyes fly open.

“Y-Yakumo—”

“Shh, angel,” he soothes.

“I just—it’s _sensitive_ —”

He crooks his fingers deeper and her moan is _so loud_. His ego swells and he’s convinced someone in the other rooms must have heard her, and he has to stop. He crawls back up her body and she’s still trying to regulate her breathing, her eyes glossy and her cheeks rosy. He gives her another long, languid kiss, and feels the tip of him brush her entrance.

“ _Yes,_ ” she hisses, pulling back from the kiss. “ _Hurry up, Yakumo_ —”

A thrust of his hips and he’s inside, and the sound of his own loud groan catches him off guard.

“ _Fuck,_ Syb,” he says. He’s trembling. It doesn’t seem possible that she can feel this good, like he’s going to burn up, like he’s going to melt into her. She’s so wet, so ready, so _hot_.

Sensitive from her orgasm, every new motion of his hip makes her gasp. He wants this to last forever. He never wants to stop, never wants to forget how this feels—how _she_ feels—

“So perfect,” he mutters in her ear, and she clutches him closer, her nails pressing hard into his back. “So fucking perfect for me, Syb.”

“Close,” she grits out, holding him tight.

“So goddamn perfect—beautiful—I love you, Syb, come for me—”

She cries out his name, body going rigid, when she comes again; he buries himself as deep in her as he can and grabs hold of the headboard so hard he hears the wood splinter.

“I love you,” she whispers back, and he wants to go again—but she’s exhausted, he can see already, so he rolls over, tucks her against his chest, and listens to her breathing as it evens out.

It doesn’t matter what comes next. All that matters is her.

* * *

When he wakes in the morning and she’s still there, dozing peacefully naked beside him, he feels positively giddy. She’s not wearing her pendant, but he realizes it doesn’t matter—he was silly to be jealous of a dead man.

His hands drift across her form; part of him still can’t believe this is his. He cups her breast in his palm and her eyes flutter open. He rolls her gently onto her back as she wakes, his lips leaving butterfly kisses over every mark he left on her last night. There are dozens; she’s painted with them. The entire base will know what they were up to. He finds he likes that idea more than he should.

“Mmm,” she hums, content. “G’morning.”

“Mornin’.” He grins down at her, smoothing her sleep-mussed hair. “Sleep well?”

“Best in a long time.” Her smile is so soft he feels like he could die. She presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “You?”

“Why sleep?” he says, and he presses his palm against her waist. “All my dreams are right here.”

To his great delight, she giggles, covering her face with her hands. “Yakumo Shinonome, you absolute _romantic_ you.”

“Didn’t know I had it in me, huh, babe?”

She rolls her eyes and swats playfully at his shoulder, and makes a move as if to sit up. He lets the weight of his hips rest against hers and she stops.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She gives him a side eye, but he can tell she’s still amused. “I’m getting up.”

“Hmm.” He gives her a long kiss, slipping his tongue between her parted lips. “Me too.” He smirks at her when he pulls back and she laughs again, and if he didn’t already love her he swears that would be it, he’d be a goner.

“It’s already late morning,” she says, gesturing at the light streaming through the window of her room.

“So? We’ll aim for mid-afternoon.”

“Mid-after—”

Yakumo kisses her again, and again, and again. How did he hold back for so long? How did he spend a single day not kissing her?

There is a heavy, thunking knock at the door, and the two of them freeze.

“When you’re done with him, Queenslayer, you’d better go out and get me some more goddamn liquor.”

“That you, Jacky-boy?” Yakumo calls out, though Sybil tries desperately to shush him, her face beet red.

“Don’t sound so smug, Shinonome,” Jack grunts from beyond the door. “Just hurry it up. I’m thirsty.”

“I am, too,” Yakumo smirks again, bending his head to nip gently at Sybil’s pulse point.

“I’m gonna be fucking sick.” Jack’s footsteps recede from the door.

Sybil pushes hard on Yakumo’s chest, clearly frazzled. It’s the first time he’s seen her so uncomposed. “What did you do that for, that was so embarrassing—”

“It’s not embarrassing.” He laughs. “Everyone knows how pathetic I was, pining after you. Is it bad to sort of...want to show you off?” He nuzzles her hair. “Not totally, of course, no way am I letting Jack or Louis see you like this—”

“Hey!”

“—but isn’t it natural, to be proud of being with the one you love?”

That disarms her, and after a moment, she nods briefly.

“Good.” He smiles again, carding his fingers through her hair. “Now, where were we?”

* * *

_repeat and fade_


	7. Da Capo (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is the first half of the bonus chapter: the first part of the entire entr'acte from Sybil's perspective! This chapter covers the contents of chapters 1-3 (Intermezzo, Adagio, and Nocturne). As always thank you for reading and thank you in advance for kudos and comments!

_da capo_

~adverb~

from the beginning

_al segno_

* * *

She knows Yakumo has always been…friendlier to the women of their group. It's not that he's a womanizer; a lot of times, his behavior is brotherly, though his eyes occasionally tend to wander where Coco is concerned. He’s always been supportive, there whenever Mia was upset about Nicola or whenever Murasame needed a boost. But lately, suddenly, the way he looks at _her_ has changed. Sybil feels the difference, a palpable uptick in desire. His gaze lingers where it didn't before, she can feel his eyes across the room, and sometimes, he drops his vision down to her mouth when she speaks. He has always looked at her like he truly _sees_ her, the first to notice how she’s feeling, but now?

Sybil doesn’t have words to describe how he looks at her now.

She’s at the bar, downing shots of straight brandy like it’s water and she’s dying of dehydration. She has just remembered Oliver, sweet Oliver with lips tasting of the liquor she’s throwing back. The memory felt like a dream, but she storms over to Jack’s room and slams her palm against the door until he answers, and she asks him if he knew. She demands to know, and he confirms it: she’d had a past with Oliver before Operation Queenslayer. Before everything was stolen from her. Oliver must have died, at least a few times, between then and when she awoke. He hadn’t remembered her either, though the way he’d stayed by her side gives her hope that some small part of him had known, somehow.

“I’m sorry,” Jack says to her, and she knows he regrets it. If he’d known what she was, what she’d been becoming, he wouldn’t have done what he did. 

Remembering Oliver has filled in some blanks, explained that strange longing when she saw him and the intensity of the pain when he’d turned and she had to destroy him. It explains the reason she held onto his necklace. It also doubles the ache in her chest. Drinking doesn’t solve anything—it never does, but she keeps trying—so she decides to opt for killing something instead. Louis initially complained about her solo excursions, calling her reckless, but now she comes back with supplies so frequently that he’s stopped commenting on it. What she’s brought back has helped the base so much that besides a short disapproving look, he keeps his mouth shut. Yakumo is always trying to get her to bring a partner, though. She knows he just worries about her.

She stands up to grab her gear, when she hears Louis’s calm, sure voice from his place on the couch.

“Going somewhere?”

She freezes, biting down on the inside of her cheek. “Out.”

“The city? The cathedral?”

Louis doesn’t approve of her going into the cathedral on her own. He thinks she’s trying to purify the Successors alone, and she can’t blame him. It’s not their responsibility. She hates putting them in danger and the cathedral has some of the strongest Lost they’ve ever faced. She tries to be as vague as she can with her answer, knowing it’s nearly impossible for her to lie to him.

“Wherever,” she says. She wants to go to the cathedral. She wants to be in its spiraling, vast architecture, because the church is making her feel claustrophobic.

“Alone?” Louis sounds like he already knows where she wants to go.

“Just a few hours.”

A new voice chimes in with, “I could stretch my legs.”

Sybil can’t help her reaction, his voice melting over her and settling somewhere in her chest. She doesn’t know if she can handle his gaze right now, the intensity of it. “That’s not necessary, Yakumo, it’s been ages since you relaxed.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Thought maybe we could have a picnic.”

When she glances over at him, he winks. He’s trying to lighten the mood, to distract her.

“I...Alright.” She notices the way the tension leaves his shoulders. He’d been worried about her answer. “Ready to go now or need a minute?”

“Ready as ever,” he says, and when he smiles at her she smiles back. “Lead the way, Syb.”

* * *

She can’t believe he’s so reckless. He always draws too much attention when they fight together, and she knows he’s doing it in a misguided attempt to protect her. A Lost swipes at him with its sword and makes contact, splitting his skin in a wide wound. He counters and destroys it, but Sybil is already running for him.

“Stupid,” she mutters, peeling away parts of his destroyed shirt to look at the damage. “You always push yourself too hard, Yakumo.” She feels guilty; it’s her fault he always takes on so much, if only she were stronger—

He grabs her hand when she takes a ripped cloth and puts pressure on his wound. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

His touch on her skin is _fire_ ; she can feel the force of her blush as it rushes forth. “I wish you’d be more careful.”

“Don’t you worry about me, Syb.” He squeezes her hand. “You can rely on me.”

She focuses on his wound, avoiding his eyes. She doesn’t think she can handle the way he looks at her right now. “I know I can.” She’s always been able to rely on Yakumo. The bleeding slows and she unconsciously reaches for her pendant, its presence calming to her. She’s still worried about making him fight in this condition. They need to rest. “There’s a mistle around the corner. We can rest there.”

* * *

When she tells him about Oliver, it feels like her heart is curling in on itself. It's a painful, strangling feeling, but she needs to do it. She wants Yakumo to know that she trusts him, that how she’s acting right now isn’t his fault. His hand on her knee is a grounding force. 

She gives the bag of blood beads they harvested to Louis when they return to the base. Yakumo makes a strange, pinched face and turns away from her to give his gear to Murasame for maintenance. She hears him mention the hot spring, hears Mursame’s girlish protesting when he takes off his shirt. Sybil sneaks a peek, breath catching in her throat at the sight. She knows he’s fit, but somehow seeing it is something else. His muscles ripple in a broad back, arms flexing as he drapes the shirt over his shoulders. On his way to the hot springs he suddenly stops, turning, and Sybil averts her eyes. She tucks her hair behind her ear and tries to regulate her breathing as Louis finishes taking inventory on the blood beads.

“Everything alright?” Louis asks. He’s noticed her red face and staggered breaths.

“Just tired from today,” she says. “I-I think I’ll take a bath and go to bed.”

She walks to the hot spring as if in a trance; really, she reasons, she feels stupid for reacting like this. It’s not like she doesn’t know what Yakumo looks like. His mesh shirt is skintight, for fuck’s sake. She strips quickly before she can chicken out and go straight to bed—she just wants to wash the day off, and she’s seen him in the hot spring before, it’s fine—

“Oh.”

She’d seen the pile of his clothes, but she just assumed he’d have worn a towel, like she is.

He is...decidedly _not_ wearing a towel.

He hears her voice and opens his eyes. She wonders if he’s as embarrassed as she feels. For a second, they just stare at each other. It takes every ounce of her self control not to let her eyes wander beneath the nearly-clear water.

“Hey, Syb.” He lifts an arm. There is no trace of embarrassment in his tone, and she feels silly. Of course there isn’t. There’s no reason to be embarrassed.

“Yakumo.” She glances once more at his clothes, and when she looks back at him she slips and her gaze drops to the waterline just above his waist. To cover it, she matches his casual tone. “Didn’t bring a towel, I see.”

He shrugs, playing with the water, and looks away from her. She uses that opportunity to take a deep, steadying breath. “It’s not like I can catch a cold.”

Something about that, in this awkward situation, is funny to her. She laughs, their banter easy. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Wouldn’t mind one of your famous back rubs.” He’s being cheeky, she knows that, but as she thinks back on it today she realizes there’s a good chance he might have strained a muscle or two.

“Does your back hurt?” she asks. He always pushes himself too hard, _always_ —

He’s in the process of denying it when she starts to tug at the knot that holds up her towel, and she glances up when he starts to sputter. “S-Syb, what are you doing?”

She looks up at him, frowning. The towel is open in the front now. “Getting in the spring.”

“W-Why are you getting naked?”

His reaction creates a surge of confidence in her. _I see. Two can play this game, it seems._ “ _You’re_ naked, Yakumo. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Me? Uncomfortable? Never.” Despite his words, he looks away from her again until she’s in the water, dipping low so most of everything is covered. When he chances to gaze at her again, the intensity of his gaze makes her _shiver_.

He’s never looked at her like _that_ before.

She makes a spin motion with her finger. “Turn around.” She can’t take those eyes on her like that for much longer.

“W-What?” He’s stuttering a lot. It’s kind of cute.

“Didn’t you say you wanted a back rub?”

The color on his cheeks could just be the heat from the springs, or it could be a blush. He begins to protest, but she isn’t listening, her hands on his shoulders as she attempts to physically move him. “Alright, alright, yes ma’am.”

He turns away from her and she exhales, able to relax now without his gaze on her. She leans forward to touch him, her body brushing against his back, and he starts coughing.

“Yakumo! Are you okay?” She leans over his shoulder to peek at his face.

“I’m fine.”

She doesn’t believe him. He’s clearly been working too hard, probably exhausted himself. She sets herself to the massage, feeling the knots and tension in his shoulders. She’s done this before; she knows exactly where he holds all of his stress, all of his tightness. His skin feels different under her hands than his shirt material does. He’s so warm.

“Feeling better?” she asks, and then she rests her forehead on his shoulder as her hands dip to his lower back.

“You’re really good at this, Syb.”

 _Fuck_ , his voice sounds good like that. She has to stop, the spike of arousal between her legs making her hands shake. His shoulders tighten again, she can see it—he thinks he’s done something wrong, she realizes, and so she throws herself into a hug around his neck.

“Syb.” His voice cracks. She loves the way he says her name.

“Thank you, Yakumo,” she says, and she buries her face against his neck. She can’t look at him like this. She’s still _naked_ — “For today. For everything.” And she means it, too, through her embarrassment. He has no idea how much he helps her. How much she needs him.

He doesn’t say anything, and after another moment she pulls away. That’s enough for tonight, she thinks, and she’s grateful he doesn’t look at her while she gets out and wraps the towel around herself again.

“Goodnight, Yakumo.”

“Night.”

Was it just her imagination, or did he sound strained? She goes back to bed and dreams of his voice saying her name.

* * *

It’s not a conscious decision, taking that hit for Mia. Sybil’s body moves on its own, despite how tired and drained she’s felt lately, but the blade in her shoulder is more of a wake-up-call than any amount of caffeine. She doesn’t mean to cry out in pain, but _fuck_ it _hurt_. More than usual, her pain receptors alive and over-firing. Mia is crying; she tries to tell the girl she’s fine, but then Yakumo is there, destroying the Lost in front of her and looking so _worried_.

He says something to Mia. There’s a whooshing sound in her ears that’s drowning out almost everything else.

“It’s fine,” she finally manages to say. “He didn’t hit my heart.” If he had, she’d be ash by now.

“It looks bad, Syb.” Yakumo, leaning so close to her, his arms supporting her. She didn’t realize she’d collapsed.

“I’ll just disperse and regenerate next to a mistle.” She tries to remember the last mistle they stopped at. How far is it? How long will it take her to get back to base?

“That’s not supposed to be the first choice.” He’s mad at her, his anger clear in his voice. “It’s not a fucking reset button, Sybil.”

She wants to laugh, but feels like that wouldn’t be appropriate, and instead just smiles at him. “I mean, it sort of _is_ , Yakumo.”

“Shut up and hold onto me.” He picks her up, and god _damn_ that hurt. “Mia! Let’s move!”

He’s so warm. His touch is an immense comfort. She can almost feel the pain leeching away from her, and she presses herself as close to him as she can. _This is fine,_ she thinks. _This would be a fine way to die._

Her world goes black, listening to Yakumo’s breathing.

* * *

Regeneration is a startling process. One minute she doesn’t even exist, consciousness floating in a void of blackness, untethered—the next minute, she’s thrust into her freshly-healed body, and it’s like being doused in frigid water. She takes her first new breath and bolts upright in bed like she’s been electrocuted, and before her eyes have even focused she’s being crushed in the embrace of two very strong arms.

“Y-Yakumo?” It almost embarrasses her that she can identify those arms, that she somehow just _knows_ this person-shaped form is Yakumo.

“Took you long enough,” he says, and that makes her frown.

“How long has it been?” His grip is stifling. “Yakumo, too tight.”

“Just deal with it for a minute, will you?”

She stops. He rarely talks to her like that, and he sounds so vulnerable, but also pouty, almost like a toddler. She must have really scared him this time. In an attempt to be reassuring, she reaches around him and tries to reciprocate the hug. When he’s satisfied, he pulls back from her, and before she can ask anything at all, he has disappeared from the room.

She hears a muffled _thunk_ in the hallway that she can’t explain a source for.

“You alright?” It’s only then she notices Louis is in the room also. He sits down in the chair Yakumo left.

She gives her friend a smile. “I’m fine. Yakumo is overreacting as usual. It was nothing major.”

“He doesn’t see it that way.”

Before she can ask Louis what he means, Yakumo is back in the room, holding a blood bead. Louis makes a move as if to give the chair back, but Yakumo moves right past and sits himself right next to her on the bed. His leg is against hers. He puts his hand on the small of her back and hands her the blood bead, but all she can focus on is the feel of his palm.

“I don’t need it,” she says, She keeps her hands in her lap, his touch a distraction. “There are others that need it more.”

“Drink it or I force feed you.”

She’s never seen him so serious. She takes the blood bead from his hand and drinks. The taste is good—she’s been denying herself for a while, knowing there are others in more desperate need, and she knows she’s pushed it too far. That must be why Yakumo is worried. Of course he notices something like that. As she drinks, his hand drags up her back and cups the back of her neck, and she almost groans aloud. Between the blood on her tongue and the warmth of his skin, she’s going to fall apart.

He takes the blood bead from her when she’s finished, and when she looks up there are those intense eyes again. He flicks them down to her lips, and he’s so close to her; the desire in her own heart surges, but it’s the bloodlust, it’s not _her,_ and there’s still Louis in the room to think about—

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” she says, and that breaks his trance.

“Make it up to me by not doing it again.” His voice sounds just the same as the hot springs, laced with dark promises and some deep desire, and she feels her body flush—He gets off the bed, putting very tangible distance between them. “You need to take care of yourself, Syb. What would we do if something happened to you?”

She apologizes, and her hand reaches up to her chest. She _aches_. He leaves.

* * *

She finds him again, the next day when she’s well enough to get up, seeks him out like he’s her reason for breathing. Jack doesn’t know what to do with everyone’s spiraling worry about her, so he stiffly offers her a drink. For once, there’s no feeling she wants to dull; she turns him down. He seems almost relieved.

When she walks toward Yakumo and he tosses her an onigiri, her heart swells. She had worried, very briefly when he wasn’t coming to see her, and now she sees that worry is unfounded. The onigiri, however, reminds her of something else that gives her pause.

“Have you...gone to see Emily lately?”

Sybil was there, in the memory; she knows how Emily feels about him. She knows what Emily tried to tell him, when she thought she was going to die. For a moment, Sybil feels a strange sense of guilt. She tamps down the rising emotion in her chest when she looks at him. Emily deserves her chance to confess.

“I did, once. She mostly just sleeps now. The relic, it takes most of her energy.”

“Do you ever wonder…” Suddenly she’s not hungry. She thinks about Emily, about the girl who loves a boy but is stuck inside a monster. “Do you ever wonder if what we’re doing makes any difference?”

“Of course it does. How could you question that?” Yakumo doesn’t hesitate.

She finishes her onigiri. “I suppose you’re right. I guess I just always feel like there’s something _more_ .” _I could be doing more. Saving more._

“You’re doing plenty,” says Yakumo, as if he can hear her thoughts. “We’ve only managed to get this far because of you. Don’t go doubting yourself now, Syb, or I’ll have to smack you.”

She loves her nickname, that special little term of endearments he’s given her. He’s the only one that uses it. It feels special. Intimate. “You couldn’t hit me if you tried.”

His eyes are staring at her again, and she tries to convince herself this is fine, she’s content like this, and when his gaze drops to her throat she tries to pretend she doesn’t see it.

“You’re not wearing your pendant.”

His words don’t make any sense, and when she questions him he looks almost...frightened.

“Oliver’s pendant,” he says, and it suddenly _scares her_ that she doesn’t recognize the name, because the look on Yakumo’s face means she’s _supposed_ to know him.

Yakumo tells her about Oliver Collins—tells her _again_ , because she’s lost him in this last regeneration. His voice trembles when he tells her, and it’s like being shocked back into awareness, and her brain fills in little details as if it traitorously knew all along.

“Oliver Collins.” She doesn’t know how long she’s been whispering the name. “I kissed him in the barracks before they sent me to Jack’s team for Operation Queenslayer.” _“You’ll come back to me, Sybil, I know you will.”_ “He had the softest green eyes. He tasted like brandy.” There’s more she wants to say but she holds it close. Oliver had looked at her like she was the sunlight. He liked to play with her hair, running his fingers through it and braiding it, claiming it calmed him. When he’d hold her he’d rest his chin on top of her head and tell her she was his orbit, his center of gravity.

She doesn’t even realize she’s squeezing Yakumo’s hand.

“I’m alright,” she says, but she wants to cry, she wants to scream. “Thank you, for giving him back to me.”

She hesitates when he lets her go, giving him a kiss on the forehead before she can think about the implications. “What would I do without you, Yakumo?” 

And she _means_ it. He didn’t have to tell her about Oliver; he could have weighed the pros and cons and decided that reopening the wound wasn’t worth it. Instead, he knows she wants to know everything she’s forgotten. Just like he’d wanted to know about Riki and Miguel.

She feels his eyes on her as she leaves, back to her room, to retrieve the necklace she left on her bedside table because she hadn’t known its significance. She closes the door behind her, slips the cord around her neck, and takes a few shuddering breaths.

_“This is no big deal, Sybil, just another mission.”_

_“It’s to kill the_ _Queen_ _, Oliver. Jack told us we could ash permanently, or worse, if we breathe her miasma_ — _”_

_“You won’t. You and Jack are going to win, and then you’re going to come back to me.”_

She puts her head in her hands, her elbows resting on her knees, and takes a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry,” she whispers to the empty room. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you, Oliver.”

She means that in more ways than one.

* * *

When Jack says the words “replace Silva,” Sybil knows exactly what that means.

Part of her wants to be mad at him, at his expectation that she’ll volunteer—he’ll never suggest her, even though he knows she’s the only option, with Eva in such a fragile state after her near frenzy and with the compatibility Sybil has shown with the Queen’s blood. No, he won’t suggest her, but he knows she’ll offer herself. It’s a ploy to assuage his own guilt.

“I—”

“No.”

She almost doesn’t know what to say. Yakumo _interrupts_ her. No? What the hell does that mean? She glares at him and opens her mouth again to speak.

“I’ll do it.”

“ _No._ ” He crosses his arms over her chest, and her temper flares. Who does he think he is? Her father?

“I’ll replace Silva,” Sybil says, ignoring him and turning to Jack. “I can do it—”

“I said no, Syb.”

And that she can’t ignore. She spins on him, furious. “The fuck are you talking about, Yakumo? The fuck do you mean, _no_? It’s _my_ decision—”

“It’s a dumbass fucking decision. You’re already the Successor of Blood, Syb, who knows if you could even handle another relic—”

Is he really doubting her? _Him_? Her biggest supporter, the same man who told her she could shake the world if she wanted, is doubting her strength? “That’s not your choice to make—”

“You could frenzy!” He’s never yelled at her like this before. He’s never been this raw, this _angry_.

But she’s planned for that eventuality. She’s thought this through, before Jack ever suggested taking on another relic. She’s been meaning to bring it up for a while, it just never seems like a good time, but this is as good a time as any: “I know you won’t let that happen.”

He knows exactly what she’s referring to. She can see it on his face, on the way he pales.

“Syb, don’t you dare.”

He’s going to pretend he doesn’t know? That he doesn’t understand _perfectly_? Fine. She’ll spell it out for him.

“If I lose control, I know you’ll stop me, Yakumo.” She’s forgotten there are other people here, that everyone is watching them. It’s just her and Yakumo. She’s just a woman, asking a man to kill her.

“I can’t,” he says, and he sounds so _small_. “I can’t do what you’re asking me to do, Syb. I won’t.” He takes a step toward her and for a moment it shakes her resolve. She wants him to hold her. She wants to pretend like this isn’t a possibility. But it is, and she needs him to promise her. “And I won’t have to, _because you’re not going to do it._ ”

“There isn’t another option!” She shouts back at him, her voice cracking, because they don’t have time for him to be a chivalrous idiot. This is the _reality_. She’s known it since they first fought Aurora, found Karen. She has the sudden, horrid thought that he might try to do something _stupidly_ noble and take her place. The idea makes her nearly hyperventilate. She’s rambling, spouting other things, and it’s taking everything in her not to burst into tears.

“We don’t have another choice,” says Jack, interrupting. She’s brought back down to reality; they’re in a room, in the base, surrounded by their friends. This is a strategy meeting. Jack is still talking, she realizes, but all she catches are the last few words: “She’s our best hope.”

_Best hope._

Yakumo storms off and she’s chasing after him. He’s pacing, he’s furious, and when she calls his name he turns his pained expression on her.

“If you’ve come to try and convince me to support your decision—”

“Yakumo, it has to be you.” She wants to tell him, every cell in her body is screaming it—tell him what she realized when he reminded her of Oliver, tell why it has to be him—because if she’s going to die she wants it to be at the hands of the man she—

But that isn’t fair, and she knows if she tells him, he’ll never do it. He’ll insist on doing something brave, on _saving_ her, even if he doesn’t feel the same way about her. 

“I know it’s a lot to ask.” She steps toward him. All she wants is to be wrapped up in him, to pretend she’s not about to risk everything tomorrow. “But it has to be you, Yakumo. If I frenzy—”

“Stop it, Syb.”

“ _If I frenzy,_ ” she says, because she needs him to listen to this. She reaches out and touches his arm, because she just needs an anchor right now or she’ll float away. “I want it to be you that ends it.”

“ _Sybbie_ ,” he pleads, and her heart breaks. He’s never called her that before. “ _Please_.”

She has to stay firm. She has to stay strong. If she weakens, even a little, she’ll collapse against him and tell him that she loves him. Even now, the words claw at the back of her throat and press against her teeth and she has to chew them back. “It can’t be Jack, or Louis.” She knows each of them would step forward if she started to lose control. She reaches up to touch his face and it’s all she can allow because the words are back. _It has to be you because I love you, Yakumo. Because I’m selfish and weak and the last thing I want to feel is you._ “You. Promise me.”

He grabs at her hand with such desperation that she has to stop and wonder if maybe he feels this too. But she can’t ask. She’s not that selfish. She can’t afford to be.

“You won’t frenzy.”

He’s not _listening_ to her, he’s not— “If I do—”

“You’re asking me to kill you, Syb,” and she wants to scream when he closes his eyes and leans against her touch. “I can’t.”

“Please, Yakumo. This is the last thing I’ll ever ask you to—”

“No, stop it.” He cups her face in his large, warm hands, and she wants to melt away. “If you’re going to do this—if you _have_ to do this—don’t ask me to kill you. I can’t bear it, Syb, it’s too much.” Then his arms are around her and she’s so sinfully _happy_.

He doesn’t promise her, and she can’t force him. When he lets her go, she goes to find Louis. He knows what she’s going to say before she asks, always such a keen observer.

“He’ll come around,” Louis says. “He knows he’ll regret it if he lets someone else do it. Especially after you asked.”

“If he doesn’t…”

Louis nods. “Me, not Jack. Don’t worry.”

She exhales, and he fixes her with those serious crimson eyes.

“Have you told him yet?” Louis asks her, and she lets out a short, wry laugh.

“Of course not,” she says. “How am I supposed to tell him now?”

“There’s still time to—”

“Time to what?” she asks, clenching her fists. “Time to regret that we don’t have enough time? Time to wish for just one more night? Time to—to—”

“To be together,” says Louis, and that’s so hopelessly optimistic that she could shout.

“No.” She shakes his head. “No. And don’t _you_ dare tell him either. _Especially_ not if I don’t make it. Or I swear to all that is unholy, I will rise from the ashes and kill you myself.”

* * *

Jack has the decency to feel awkward as the night progresses. He offers her a drink, asks her if there’s anything she wants to do. She’s been sitting, staring at nothing, while Io sits at her feet. She wishes the night would just end. She wants to get it over with.

“Do?” Her gaze finds Yakumo before she can stop. He’s looking at her, too—their eyes lock and her breath catches. He’s stretched across the couch, muscles taut with tension. She wants him. She wants a lifetime with him. She wants—she wants— “No. Not particularly.”

Io gives her a strange look, like she understands something Sybil doesn’t. She tries to smile reassuringly at the girl, the girl who has become so much like a sister to her, the girl who is offering to waste her entire life watching over her. Sybil knows the smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

She allows herself, when everyone else is asleep, when Io has laid down, to form some of her emotions. She admits the most base, most tame of her desires, in the choking, hesitant question: “Will you just...Will you just hold me?”

Her soul grows wings when Yakumo nods and follows her back to her room. She starts to undress before she even realizes what she’s doing, just desperate for the closeness, the warmth, the comfort of skin on skin. He’s watching her like he always has—like she’s the most entrancing thing he’s ever seen. When she hesitates to be fully naked, suddenly self-conscious, he catches her hand and kisses her fingertips. It sends fire through her veins, and then he hands her the tank top crumpled on her sheets. Wordless permission. He doesn’t expect anything of her. She puts on a pair of loose shorts over her panties and sits down, waiting with held breath.

It takes him ages to follow her example and strip off his shirt. She reaches for his belt, wanting to touch more. When he’s down to plain grey boxer shorts, she moves back against the headboard and lifts the covers. He gets in beside her and maybe, maybe this is enough. His arms fit perfectly around her. Like she was made for him. This moment, this moment will be all she needs. She can endure anything tomorrow.

“I’m sorry.”

She frowns and looks up at him. “What for?”

He touches the pendant she’s wearing. It’s such a natural weight at her neck that she’s forgotten to take it off. “For not being him. I’m sure you miss him. I’m sure you’d prefer him right now.”

Sybil can’t believe he’s such a colossal idiot. She can’t believe, with everything, that he’s still so dense. How can he not see how she feels? How does he not, on some level, _know_?

“I do miss him,” she says. “But I didn’t ask for him tonight, did I? I asked for you.” _I’ll always ask for you._

“He’s gone, Syb, you couldn’t have asked for him—”

“You asked me what I wanted tonight. I could have asked for anything.” She’s trying and failing to keep the anger out of her voice because _how_ could he be such a _dolt?_

“You’re right,” he says, and she curls herself back around him. “Syb, I—”

“Don’t.” There’s something in his tone. Like he’s going to say something he can’t take back. She wonders if this is rejection, and she doesn’t think her heart can take it. “Don’t say goodbye just yet.”

She falls asleep in his arms and pretends like tomorrow changes nothing.


End file.
